


Starlit Sex on the Beach

by Sailing the Malky Way (Fan_by_Proxy)



Series: Kinks of the Night [2020 prompt list] [2]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Deep throat, F/M, Nosebleed, Oral Sex, Picnics, Public Blow Jobs, Rough Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28950576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Sailing%20the%20Malky%20Way
Summary: Mitnick and his Malkavian mistress hit the beach for a nice little date under the stars
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Mitnick, Original Malkavian Character(s)/Mitnick
Series: Kinks of the Night [2020 prompt list] [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097768
Kudos: 2





	Starlit Sex on the Beach

Mitnick leaned against the support, checking his phone again _just in case_. His girl was usually pretty good about updating him when the night went to shit and she’d have to break a date; but Lacroix’s obsession was eating up a lot of good valuable night time for everybody stuck working for him and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been the cause of a ruined evening. At least the beach was quiet and empty; most of the thin bloods who’d been camping there had flaked off to other places, save one who had the Nos gleam in his eye and not much else going for him. That guy was deeper under the pier, mostly hidden; Mitnick thought about telling him to find somewhere else to be, but it wasn’t like the guy posed much of a threat. The word from Gary was to be as hands-off as possible with them for the time being (his actual words had been ‘Not my monkeys, not my circus tonight’), and as long as the guy didn’t crash their date, it was easiest to live-and-let-live.

It was a little past midnight when Circe _finally_ arrived, dressed in black and sporting bright copper waves, a picnic basket and blanket over one arm. She paused in the archway to pop off her heels, then stepped onto the sand. Stopping short of the remains of a bonfire, she set the basket down and unfolded the blanket; with a few flicks of the wrist, there was a cozy little spot to settle down on. Circe sat down, opening the picnic basket to check its contents: a couple of thermoses nestled with some hot packs to keep its contents drinkable. The night was pleasant, with a mostly clear sky and faint breeze that tasted like salt and cotton candy.

Watching her pick her way across the sand and set up made Mitnick grin. She looked so good and cute and elegant all at once, and he had a good hunch what treats she’d brought…besides herself. She didn’t _have_ to, he hoped she remembered him saying that. Being Nos and being picky about what you ate wasn’t _really_ an option, after all. Still, it was nice to have a treat that didn’t squeak when you bit it, at least every once in a while. Mitnick slid out of the shadows and padded across the beach, dropping into view and onto the blanket at the same time, to her delighted squeal.

“Nicky!” Circe threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek and the corner of his mouth, a fang, and then his lips as he turned his face towards her, smiling. “A moonlit picnic with perhaps not the most sublime vintage, but sourced sound and safe, kept tender by Nossie tricks.”

“Those hot-packs are the best, aren’t they?” Mitnick replied between returning the kisses, before accepting a thermos. He opened it and sniffed, to try and figure out the type. It was a pointless exercise; there was just the copper smell of the blood and metallic scent of the thermos, and a little of the magnesium from the hot pack, with a field of flowers over all of that. Again, _not_ that it really mattered. Mitnick took a sip and closed the lid to keep the heat in, and took a deep breath. Salt and flowers filled his nose again, and he sighed. “Thanks. Came right from work, huh?”

Circe nodded, sipping her own thermos. “The ivory tower rings with indignation and orders, but mine as always is to be handy.”

“Well…you look good.” Mitnick replied; it always took him an extra few moments to puzzle out what she said when nicknames got involved. “Real classy.” he added, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

Circe made a pleased noise. “A costume, sure as much as feathers and sequins; a pantomime of dignity that is rarely felt--” she sighed, closed her eyes, and counted to three silently.

Mitnick kissed her temple and nuzzled her cheek. “Relax. I got you--I remember having to take my nose ring out when I went to work, back before; pain in the ass, so glad I don’t have to do that shit anymore.” He said softly. It was a bummer that she’d caught the Malk scramble the way she had, not because it was honestly _that_ hard to figure out (most of the time, at least, if you were paying attention) but because she got so frustrated, and he hadn’t figured out how to help her better.

Circe took a deep breath and nodded, then wiggled closer until they sat shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip. It was a relatively quiet night inside her head, which made the date _that_ much better.

Mitnick grinned as her head settled on his shoulder, shifting the thermos to his other hand and wrapping his freed arm around her waist. They sat quietly, watching the surf; the thermoses did an alright job holding heat, but they would have to drink faster to avoid an unpleasant texture. “So…” Mitnick said after he’d finished his and passed it back to her. “Designer threads, right?”

Circe nodded, dropping both thermoses back into the basket. The hot-packs had mostly burned themselves out, so the empty containers would be alright. “Right from Coco’s closet--such a query leads to another: does my natty Nos need such dressing?” she teased. It would be something to get Mitnick in a suit, but he liked his leather and his superhero PJs best of all. The only thing she wished he would let her bring him was a better harness, to help the growing arc of his back. He said it wasn’t painful, most of the time,

He snorted. “No way, I’m not Gary. No, what _I_ was wondering…” Mitnick grinned. “Is it designer all the way to the skin?” he teased.

She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “If naughty Nicky wishes to know Victoria’s Secret, he _only has to ask_ …” Circe purred, already shimmying out of the suit jacket. The shell underneath barely contrasted with her skin; she giggled when Mitnick ran the back of his hand over her chest and tickled her chin with his claws. He was always a little more careful in the way he touched her “work” clothes, and she had not yet found an easy way to make him understand that every pinprick hole and pulled seam was worth it for his attention. So she took his hand and kissed each finger tip, then planted his hand on one breast and encouraged him to squeeze--he was a sucker for the squeeze, after all.

Mitnick fumbled to fish out his phone as he squeezed, licking his lips as he felt Circe push into his touch. “Can’t decide if it’s hotter imagining what you got on, or if you were hanging free.” He said jokingly, leaning in to kiss her as he groped, pictures forgotten for a moment as her tongue slipped eagerly into his mouth. They _really_ should get some cover; the pier wasn’t entirely deserted and they weren’t exactly hidden away in the middle of the small stretch of beach right there…but while things were still _relatively_ PG-13, he entertained a fantasy of getting to it right there on the picnic blanket.

As Circe teased and wrestled with his tongue, she untucked the shell from her skirt, and did the contortions one does to get a bra undone and ready to come off without taking off their shirt. When Mitnick pulled back to wipe his mouth, she pulled the bra out from underneath her shirt and grinned. “Ta da!” Circe announced before dropping the bra on top of the picnic basket.

The phone was forgotten again as Mitnick fairly tackled his girlfriend, pushing her to the sand and blanket and holding her down by her wrists. He rubbed his face against the silky shell, mouthing her breasts through the fabric before focusing on her nipples. First the left, then the right, sucking them through the fabric, causing more pinprick holes in her top when he bit down on them as gently as he could manage.

She’d giggled when the Nos tackled her and started nuzzling, but the giggles quickly turned to moans under his continue attack. Circe felt something against her thigh that normally took _much_ longer to occur; maybe it was the salt-and-candy air, or how fast they’d gone from sipping to fooling around, or maybe it was just ‘one of those things’. Not that it really mattered, because Mitnick was starting to growl deep in his throat and his grip on her wrists was tightening, and that all fed into her growing excitement.

There was a downside to pencil skirts, Mitnick realized; as good as his girl looked in them, she couldn’t sling her legs around his waist the way they both liked while it was on. “Can you get it off?” he asked raggedly, pressing his palm to her hip and focusing on keeping his nails off the fabric. They were too far away from her place and the night was a little early to destroy her zipper just yet.

Circe nodded, managing to get up in spite of her shaky legs. She kept her back to him, unzipping and working the skirt down carefully. She heard the faux shutter-noise of Mitnick’s phone and giggled. Unless things were moving very fast, he was good to let her know in some way that he was recording them. “A full moon before it’s due.” she teased.

“Don’t hear me complaining.” Mitnick rasped, first palming her ass before giving it a light smack. “You should wear thongs more often.” he added, hooking his finger around what little fabric there was and pulling it; first up to get a picture of her puffy lips spilling over it, then to the side because the first was just a tease. “Please…” he added, thinking for a second that he’d come off like a creep.

The skirt joined the bra and jacket in the general area of the blanket, and Circe turned around, hands out. “Crash the waves with me, before you cause the tides to run down my ankles.”

He laughed, pulling off his t-shirt and getting up. “I’ll get my feet wet.” Mitnick said, taking her hand and letting her pull him up; he followed her to the edge of the water, resisting just a little as she tried to take him past the foam. Wet jeans weren’t sexy _or_ comfortable.

Circe squeezed his hand, then slotted against him, kissing hungrily with an open mouth. That coaxed him to mid-shin in the surf, at least. She hooked a leg around his waist and ground against the fast firmness, feeling the salt sting form little cuts as Mitnick’s hands palmed and grabbed hard at her to press tighter together.

Mitnick growled, head swimming with flowers and salt and candy as his girl rubbed against him and teased and made promises without saying a word. For a moment, his mind went clear and he thought again of what an _impossibly_ lucky turn his life had taken once vampirism happened. But that insight disappeared fast under a haze of lust as Circe pulled away from him and tipped back into the water. He saw her shapely legs kick up, the shadow of her curves as she moved a little ways away under the water, and then rose up again. The silky shell was now plastered to her skin, and the water dripping off her caught the neons from the pier. He was up to his knees in the water without thinking, reaching for her.

Circe met him with a ferocious kiss, both hands down to carefully palm the front of his jeans. There was a hint of blood on her lips. “Need you.” she managed to get out, panting raggedly.

He was about to agree to whatever she wanted to do there in the surf; sometimes his girl had a wild hair to do something even _he_ hadn’t thought of (like the time she pulled him to the roof of her building for some almost-Masquerade-violating sex). But the sound of distant voices started Mitnick out of his passionate stupor.

In a purely Nos move, he grabbed Circe and sped her to the comfortable safety of the shadows under the pier; in a less Nos move, he settled her against one of the poles and stood between her and their temporarily abandoned picnic, shielding her from potentially being seen.

“My hero.” she murmured, kissing his neck and palming the front of his jeans again.

The voices grew closer, but with her lips on his skin and her insistent, busy hands, Mitnick’s lust surprisingly didn’t falter. He shushed her, ears pricked for the sound of footsteps. As long as they stayed overhead, and didn’t start down the ramp towards the beach, they were--

Circe unzipped his jeans and dropped into a squat, taking Mitnick’s cock in her mouth eagerly. She heard his surprised gasp and the throaty, rattling groan that followed, and reached back to hold onto the leg of the pier to keep her balance as she bobbed her head.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mitnick hissed, reaching down and grabbing a handful of her hair. He _meant_ to hold her off and pull out…but the _look_ she gave him, with salt starting to show on her skin and her hair now a perfect mess, got to him. They were in the relative shade of the pier, and in fairness they _both_ had a Talent that would hide them well enough, if push came to shove. He growled again, tightening his grip on her hair, and let his hips go.

Circe’s eyes rolled as she willed herself to stay balanced without tensing. Mitnick was pulling her hair and pressing into her mouth; the back of her throat started to feel bruised but she didn’t even try to resist. The upside of being a vampire was that that feeling would go away soon enough, and it was worth the pain to get her nervous Nossie this wound up and ready to go.

Mitnick heard her throat gulping, and the wet slurps as he used her mouth like a toy. Her fangs were well out, causing a delicious pressure against his cock as he thrust in and out of her mouth. It was a lucky thing that she was one of those pretty movie-fang kind of vamps, or else there’d be no head once she got hot. There was more noise above and coming down the pier, and he really _shouldn’t_ be fucking a nearly-naked girl’s mouth when discovery was so close, but Mitnick couldn’t stop. If he could get the angle right, he _could_ get to her throat, and even without catching it on film this time, that would make his night.

It wasn’t that Circe didn’t notice the approaching Kine--and it _was_ Kine, because the color of their sounds were calm white--she just didn’t care. It was a happy side-effect of being technically, legally dead: there wasn’t shit that could be done to her, and the general loss of shame was liberating. Mitnick’s thrusting was getting more frantic and the salty taste in her mouth no longer had much to do with the sea; she shifted position, planting a knee in the sand, to try and give him the angle he wanted.

That little move was all it took for Mitnick to reach the promised land of her throat. He hunched, palming the back of her head to hold her in place as he bore down. There was no way a living, breathing girl could’ve kept up with the onslaught; but his girl was nearly a goddamn pro, holding poised while he fucked her mouth and her throat for all it was worth, feeling the cold tip of her nose against his skin. “Gonna fucking _come_ \--” Mitnick hissed, reaching down with his free hand, growling in his throat as he felt her strong fingers twine with his.

When he finally came, it was with a shudder and lurch and force that made Circe’s eyes water as she focused on holding his hand and staying relaxed to let the load slide down her throat. Her lips were sore--in fact her whole _face_ was sore, but the pain was worthwhile to give back to Mitnick a little of that unhinged pleasure he was so good at giving her.

Mitnick loosened his grip on her hair and pulled his hips back, melting at the hazy, lustful look on her face. “ _Fuck_ , baby girl…” he pulled her to her feet with ease, feeling her plant one foot on his hip. When she mewled _need_ against his lips, Mitnick didn’t think twice about pressing two fingers in until his palm was being tickled by the sparse short hair on her lips. He hadn’t prepped for doing this, but she was so wet and ready it didn’t seem to matter.

Circe came hard and fast for Mitnick’s rough fingering, leaving scratches on the back of his head. She panted between hungry kisses, trying to calm down and relieve some of the aching in her face.

“Oh--shit, shit baby girl, your nose is…” Mitnick winced, pulling his fingers free reluctantly and wiping them on his jeans before gently dragging his thumb under her nose. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Circe shook her head, opened her mouth, then shook her head. There were times when the Malk Scramble was so riled, not even nonsense wanted to come out. She leaned back against the leg of the pier and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Mitnick frowned, then nodded in understanding. He dug his phone out of his pocket, relieved it hadn’t slipped out when she’d opened his jeans to start working him over. “Here,” he said after unlocking it.

She smiled, taking the phone and pulling up her own number in case the message accidentally sent. ****I’m ok bb!! Pressure in the face went high bcuz I’m not breathing when u fuck my throat :) <3****

“It felt really good.” he said sheepishly. “I mean…I mean _fucking amazing_.”

****Mmm mmm good bb, better than Campbells when ur like that** **

Mitnick laughed. “That’s so bad--you know we coulda got caught.” he pointed out.

Circe shook her head. ****Just hoomins and we both can disappear so what?****

He couldn’t think up a good counter-argument. “Maybe we should’ve hung out, let them try?” Mitnick teased.

She raised an eyebrow. ****Dirty birdy!! But maybe****

He blinked, caught by surprise. They’d gotten into some wild stuff, but it had been _just_ them so far. “You uh…you wouldn’t mind? For real?”

Circe shook her head.

Mitnick licked his lips, rare breath caught in his throat. “I’ll uh…I will keep that in mind.” He kissed her, tasting blood again. “Shit, you’re still leaking.” He said worriedly.

****All bleeding stops eventually lol. I’m fine cross my legs and hope to get off lol** **

“You sure you’re ok?” Mitnick murmured, pulling her hips against his. Maybe if they got lucky, he could get it up a second time while they were on the beach like this…as long as she really was ok to keep going.

Circe nodded, licking her lips and pressing against him. She handed the phone back, ready for more, when the worst sound happened: her ringtone. “Oh damnedable _Hell_ and fie!” she swore, stomping her foot in frustration.

Mitnick shook his head. “Always when it’s about to get good.” he teased. “Come on, baby girl, let’s hope it’s a quickie.”

“Already was.” she said mutinously, letting Mitnick lead her out from under the pier after he cast a quick look and listen around.

The vampire couple returned to the abandoned picnic spot, so they could dress and Circe could find out what was so important as to be worth ruining the moment under the pier. She groaned. “Back, immediately, to serve as always.”

“What, his lordship needs a foot massage _that bad_?” Mitnick scoffed.

Circe snorted. “A most demanding patron is he. Would you return the picks to my place, Nicky?” she asked, sidling up to him and slipping her hand in his back pocket as she kissed his chin. “Maybe even stay and wait, good and faithful, for the night’s return?”

It was _so hard_ to say no when she put on that sweet voice and looked up at him with mismatched doe eyes. “I’ll take the stuff up for you, sure, but…baby girl, you know your ghoul isn’t _that_ fond of me.” Mitnick pointed out. It made for a tense wait when she knew he was around and he knew she knew he was around; like family dinners every time Uncle Brent brought home a new girl home from AA.

She sighed. “Would that she had been afflicted by my affections instead of my madness.” Circe grumbled, resting her chin on Mitnick’s shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around her. “Look I’ll…I’ll take your stuff up, and if the place is quiet I’ll hang out.”

Circe nodded. “Fairly met in the middle of the road. Then tomorrow?” she asked, hopeful.

Mitnick shook his head. “I’ve got to work on the servers; they need some maintenance.”

“For the Book of sucking or the network I dare not ask over?”

He gave her a look.

She nodded again. “Tomorrow’s tomorrow then?”

“We’ll see.” Mitnick groaned at the face she pulled at that answer. “Come on, don’t guilt me like that.”

“Then at least a sweet good morning message, if our paths cannot cross in good time?” Circe bit her lip. The Malk scramble was mostly settled, but it would start to act up if she started trying to explain out loud the way he made her feel, and how much she would die to _keep_ feeling it.

Mitnick nodded. “Absolutely--” Her phone rang again, cutting off any other ideas. “Go on, go. I’ll pick this up for you.” he said, kissing her cheek and giving her ass a careful squeeze.

“Good night, until it’s better.” Circe replied, smiling warmly. She picked up her shoes headed towards the archway exit.

Mitnick watched her hips swing, grinning. Usually there was a little more time to clean up before she had to go running back to work, when she had to go running back to work, but tonight she was going back with her eyeliner smudged, her hair wrecked, and salt and sand trickling off her skin with each step. The Ventrue was just going to _love_ that, he thought, snickering as he bent down to pick up the basket and the blanket and knock most of the sand off of both. It wasn’t until he was back in the sewers and headed in the right direction for Circe’s building that he realized there was a wad of something in his back pocket. He stopped, reached into the pocket, and came out with the thong. “Oh, you _sneaky_ …” Mitnick said fondly, shaking his head. She had played him, and they both knew it--there was no way he would just drop off the blanket and basket and leave, even if her grumpy ghoul was around to give him the discontent side-eye. The tease was in, and even if he couldn’t manage another go, all the affection she’d heap on him for hanging around would make up for it. Mitnick was so weak to being teased…

He was keeping the underwear though.


End file.
